Lady Felicity
Loyal Servant of Altera
The Whitelist Application Form
1. What is your Minecraft username?
LadyFelicity.
2. How old are you?
Nineteen.
3. What country are you from? What is your timezone?
United States, EST.
4. Have you read the King's Law, Code of Conducts, Official Lore, and the Player Guides yet?
Yes.
5. In your own words, how would you define metagaming and powergaming?
Metagaming is when you use the knowledge obtained out of character to your advantage unfairly in character. For example, my friend tells me he plans to rob my character’s bakery - the next time we both log on, my character summons the townspeople to arrest his character even before the crime was committed.
Powergaming is when you refuse to allow an opposing player a fair opportunity to react to an emote, ignoring any responding action they make. For example, my character could swing a punch at another character’s face, and I would emote that I broke their nose - even before that other player had the opportunity to try to duck or block that movement.
6. Do we allow X-Raying mods or X-Ray texture packs on the server?
(This question goes for any method that can be used to unfairly find and mine ores.)
No.
7. Tell us about yourself! Do you have any examples of your work?
Hello, I’m Lady Felicity. I’m a university student with a budding interest in philosophy. I grew up playing piano for almost eight years, but then gave up - I’m now trying to take up the guitar and learn my favorite songs. I have always loved musical theatre, participating in my high school’s tech crew in previous years, but now I simply enjoy playing soundtracks while studying. I enjoy creative writing in roleplay settings, creating short stories for my and my friends’ characters in the back of my mind often. Fun fact, video games make me nauseous - the only game I can stand to play for a long time is Brawlhalla.
8. Did anyone refer you? If not, how did you find our server?
GhostKairo.
Character Name:
Emerald
Character Age:
Thirteen.
Character Race:
A young human woman of the Anhalder culture.
Appearance:
Chestnut brown hair in thick ringlets, threatening to be unruly if it were not for the faded green ribbon tying her hair back into a ponytail. A 5’5 girl at the edge of womanhood, her lanky figure dressed in plain blown slacks and a beige colored blouse, clearly a few sizes larger. Draped in a worn mahogany cloak that threatens to brush against her ankles, the young lady’s eyes are bright, pools of green that make her namesake clear as day.
Picture of the Skin:
Have none.
Written Test!
We start with the story of a former spirit blessed - he was bonded while trekking through the mountains to hunt. It was an unwilling bond, but the spirit formed a symbiotic relationship with him. The quiet, thundering voice helps him sense the movements of his opponents - the man relinquishes control over their journey as they dodge the brashness of whispering winds over lofty cliffs. They make their way through towns, never staying more than a day for a good drink.
The path of the stoic man is always clear with every fissure - quiet yet easily forced to anger, the man’s new abilities only seem to give tangible proof of the temper shrouded by the hardened glare.
The spirit is unhappy as he watches his partner crumble at the touch of a Shalherana follower, a woman with gentle hands and a kind heart. A goddess acts as if she understands the lands she claims - a spirit actually inhabits them, attentive to how humans carve their presence into the earth, attempting to make a mark in the land only to find themselves buried under soon enough.
A spirit understands the intimacy between man and the earth - and how human conflict always draws them away from creating, nurturing the ground that provides for them without question, without need for petty worship or offering.
The spirit can feel the vessel’s reins slip from its grasp - so it tugs tighter with every new misstep. The man becomes unpredictable with anger, almost cruel on every new bounty they take. It enjoys the impressive show of dominance, the misplaced passion humans have residing within them. However, unlike those flame bastards who stroke the egos of their companions, the spirit understands it must simply wait for the ground to shift in its favor once more.
What it doesn’t expect is the blessed’s erratic behavior - The rogue seems to accept every new blow the spirit inflicts on its body. While the earth is no longer steady and reliable beneath his feet, he continues to push forward despite every new bruise that comes with each battle. He continues to try and slip from the grasp for the sake of the woman who worships the green.
They come across a forgotten Shalherana statue deep into the woods; the man falls to his knees at the sight of the statue, almost comforted at the sight of the maiden. The spirit cannot accept the will of a man who looks to the skies to provide what lays at his feet.
The mercenary’s body trembles in pain as tremors shake the clearing. The statue’s foundation begins to crack, the goddess’s face split in half. He shouts as if the ground is trying to swallow him whole. Brought to his knees, he cradles the shards of Shalherana’s visage in his hands.
The spirit now understands it has lost its vessel to the impermanence of humans, of the divine, once more.
The woman goes into the woods to pray for the safety of her lover and for a bountiful harvest. She finds him there, laid bloodied and bruised across the base of the faceless statue. She cries out at the sight of his body, laying his head in her lap. She gingerly removes his jacket, revealing the bruises and cuts that litter his form. Seeing Shalherana’s face split before her reminds her of the fickle nature of faith.
She nurses him back to health.
They move into a spacious clearing, grassy fields rolling before them as they embark on their new life together.
They lose a child, they welcome a daughter. She has her eyes, his hair, and their determined, stubborn temper. The woman never worries about her child’s bright and spirited demeanor - the man quietly fears for her fate, whispering his worries to the shattered statue face laid in their garden.
It is her thirteenth year when she swears a voice speaks to her.
She places herself on the slope, laying down to hear the whistling winds around the gentle buzz of the insects that share her home.
Emerald knows they are the only ones in the hills - and all her friends live in the village nearby.
She envies how company is only a quick knock of a door away; the raucous laughter of her parents is not enough to block out the yearning to explore in her heart.
The soft brush of the grass cradles the young girl’s feet as she makes one step after another back to her house. Her mother is in town today, soon to return with a pouch full of coins rather than the young herbs stuffed hastily at sunrise. Her father is out there, deep in the woods, despite his claims that the earth is unkind, unwelcoming to them.
She slips on her boots, nimble fingers stumbling to knot her laces not fast enough.
1. What is your Minecraft username?
LadyFelicity.
2. How old are you?
Nineteen.
3. What country are you from? What is your timezone?
United States, EST.
4. Have you read the King's Law, Code of Conducts, Official Lore, and the Player Guides yet?
Yes.
5. In your own words, how would you define metagaming and powergaming?
Metagaming is when you use the knowledge obtained out of character to your advantage unfairly in character. For example, my friend tells me he plans to rob my character’s bakery - the next time we both log on, my character summons the townspeople to arrest his character even before the crime was committed.
Powergaming is when you refuse to allow an opposing player a fair opportunity to react to an emote, ignoring any responding action they make. For example, my character could swing a punch at another character’s face, and I would emote that I broke their nose - even before that other player had the opportunity to try to duck or block that movement.
6. Do we allow X-Raying mods or X-Ray texture packs on the server?
(This question goes for any method that can be used to unfairly find and mine ores.)
No.
7. Tell us about yourself! Do you have any examples of your work?
Hello, I’m Lady Felicity. I’m a university student with a budding interest in philosophy. I grew up playing piano for almost eight years, but then gave up - I’m now trying to take up the guitar and learn my favorite songs. I have always loved musical theatre, participating in my high school’s tech crew in previous years, but now I simply enjoy playing soundtracks while studying. I enjoy creative writing in roleplay settings, creating short stories for my and my friends’ characters in the back of my mind often. Fun fact, video games make me nauseous - the only game I can stand to play for a long time is Brawlhalla.
8. Did anyone refer you? If not, how did you find our server?
GhostKairo.
Character Name:
Emerald
Character Age:
Thirteen.
Character Race:
A young human woman of the Anhalder culture.
Appearance:
Chestnut brown hair in thick ringlets, threatening to be unruly if it were not for the faded green ribbon tying her hair back into a ponytail. A 5’5 girl at the edge of womanhood, her lanky figure dressed in plain blown slacks and a beige colored blouse, clearly a few sizes larger. Draped in a worn mahogany cloak that threatens to brush against her ankles, the young lady’s eyes are bright, pools of green that make her namesake clear as day.
Picture of the Skin:
Have none.
Written Test!
We start with the story of a former spirit blessed - he was bonded while trekking through the mountains to hunt. It was an unwilling bond, but the spirit formed a symbiotic relationship with him. The quiet, thundering voice helps him sense the movements of his opponents - the man relinquishes control over their journey as they dodge the brashness of whispering winds over lofty cliffs. They make their way through towns, never staying more than a day for a good drink.
The path of the stoic man is always clear with every fissure - quiet yet easily forced to anger, the man’s new abilities only seem to give tangible proof of the temper shrouded by the hardened glare.
The spirit is unhappy as he watches his partner crumble at the touch of a Shalherana follower, a woman with gentle hands and a kind heart. A goddess acts as if she understands the lands she claims - a spirit actually inhabits them, attentive to how humans carve their presence into the earth, attempting to make a mark in the land only to find themselves buried under soon enough.
A spirit understands the intimacy between man and the earth - and how human conflict always draws them away from creating, nurturing the ground that provides for them without question, without need for petty worship or offering.
The spirit can feel the vessel’s reins slip from its grasp - so it tugs tighter with every new misstep. The man becomes unpredictable with anger, almost cruel on every new bounty they take. It enjoys the impressive show of dominance, the misplaced passion humans have residing within them. However, unlike those flame bastards who stroke the egos of their companions, the spirit understands it must simply wait for the ground to shift in its favor once more.
What it doesn’t expect is the blessed’s erratic behavior - The rogue seems to accept every new blow the spirit inflicts on its body. While the earth is no longer steady and reliable beneath his feet, he continues to push forward despite every new bruise that comes with each battle. He continues to try and slip from the grasp for the sake of the woman who worships the green.
They come across a forgotten Shalherana statue deep into the woods; the man falls to his knees at the sight of the statue, almost comforted at the sight of the maiden. The spirit cannot accept the will of a man who looks to the skies to provide what lays at his feet.
The mercenary’s body trembles in pain as tremors shake the clearing. The statue’s foundation begins to crack, the goddess’s face split in half. He shouts as if the ground is trying to swallow him whole. Brought to his knees, he cradles the shards of Shalherana’s visage in his hands.
The spirit now understands it has lost its vessel to the impermanence of humans, of the divine, once more.
The woman goes into the woods to pray for the safety of her lover and for a bountiful harvest. She finds him there, laid bloodied and bruised across the base of the faceless statue. She cries out at the sight of his body, laying his head in her lap. She gingerly removes his jacket, revealing the bruises and cuts that litter his form. Seeing Shalherana’s face split before her reminds her of the fickle nature of faith.
She nurses him back to health.
They move into a spacious clearing, grassy fields rolling before them as they embark on their new life together.
They lose a child, they welcome a daughter. She has her eyes, his hair, and their determined, stubborn temper. The woman never worries about her child’s bright and spirited demeanor - the man quietly fears for her fate, whispering his worries to the shattered statue face laid in their garden.
It is her thirteenth year when she swears a voice speaks to her.
She places herself on the slope, laying down to hear the whistling winds around the gentle buzz of the insects that share her home.
Emerald knows they are the only ones in the hills - and all her friends live in the village nearby.
She envies how company is only a quick knock of a door away; the raucous laughter of her parents is not enough to block out the yearning to explore in her heart.
The soft brush of the grass cradles the young girl’s feet as she makes one step after another back to her house. Her mother is in town today, soon to return with a pouch full of coins rather than the young herbs stuffed hastily at sunrise. Her father is out there, deep in the woods, despite his claims that the earth is unkind, unwelcoming to them.
She slips on her boots, nimble fingers stumbling to knot her laces not fast enough.
